


Returns

by Mirime



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, POV First Person, Psychic Abilities, Rumbelle Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 07:38:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1091312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirime/pseuds/Mirime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An up-and-rising author of paranormal romances comes back into her hometown to find out that her reality might be stranger than fiction. AU, Rumbelle Secret Santa fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Returns

**Author's Note:**

  * For [loversandantiheroes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loversandantiheroes/gifts).



> Rumbelle Secret Santa gift fic for [loversandantiheroes](loversandantiheroes.tumblr.com). Their prompt was "The girl in the window".
> 
> A weird mix of modern!AU and cursed!Storybrooke. I meant it to be a ghost story but then it ran away from me in a different direction. So at least enjoy Psychic!Belle.

**I.**

I didn't expect the wave of nostalgia that hit me when I passed the 'Welcome to Storybrooke' road sign. Storybrooke wasn't a home, never had been, but after seven years of being away I had to admit that it was probably the closest thing to home I would ever know. Because as far as I knew, Storybrooke was the only place in the world where I could touch other people and not feel anything. Well, almost nothing.

I - and other people, too - had always thought I was merely very empathetic. I had had a knack for knowing how people were feeling, that had been all. Or so I had thought. When I had left Storybrooke to attend a college, I had found out just how wrong that had been.

Well, it didn't really matter. Not now. The only thing that did matter was that I was coming back. And maybe this time, I could stay.

**II.**

My father was truly happy to see me at first but I knew it wouldn't last. One of the reasons I had stayed away for so long was that we simply didn't see an eye to an eye in certain matters.

To his credit, he lasted until the dinner to start on me.

"How long are you going to stay?" he asked, looking down at his plate instead of me.

"I don't know," I told him truthfully, reaching for his hand. "I can work anywhere and the town has a good atmosphere. I was thinking about maybe adding a bit of a horror feel to my next book."

I saw the way his mouth twisted as if I had disappointed him. No, not as if. I could feel from our clasped hands that I had disappointed him. Which was quite telling, really. Being in Storybrooke caused my 'people sense', as I had dubbed it, to lower almost to nothing. Only very strong emotions would get through. Like my father's disappointment at my choices.

My father had always had plans for me. I was supposed to have finished the high school, maybe a college, too, because that was expected, then find some nice, respectable job - a teacher, a librarian or even a shop assistant would suffice, marry some ordinary guy before I was twenty-five and settle into a domestic routine next door over to him.

The whole white-picket-fence-two-point-five-kids-and-a-dog package.

It hadn't been enough for me. A part of me had always wanted to get out, to see the world, have adventures, take some risks. Maybe I would have settled down eventually, who knows. But my father had pushed and pushed until it got to the point where I had graduated from the college and hadn't returned for seven years.

And three hours into my coming back we were back where we had been before. Any moment now he would look at me and say-

"Have you thought about having a normal job?"

"I do have one," I said, unwilling to start an argument but not about to back down. "My books sell. Maybe I'm not in the top ten bestsellers lists but I earn money. Enough to live on and still have something left over."

"Belle," he started to say but I stood up.

"Could we please not do this the first evening I'm back?"

"I'm just looking out for you," he said and I knew it was true for him. But I was no longer a child. How long was he going to treat me like one? "I only want you to have a good life."

"And I appreciate that, papa, but it's my life in the end. I am the only one who can make decisions about it."

He frowned at that and that threw me right back to my teenage years and the fights we had had back then. All that was missing was his-

"As long as you live under my roof-"

And there it was. His ultimate argument that had already driven me away once.

"Thank you for the dinner, papa, but it's probably for the best if I stay the night at Granny's."

I gathered my things while ignoring his attempts at persuading me to stay. I knew he loved me but in his mind, love was about controlling the other person. He called it keeping them safe but if you didn't let the other person make their own decisions, their own mistakes, they wouldn't ever learn.

And there was still so much I didn't know yet and wanted to learn.

**III.**

When I stopped my car in the small parking lot behind Granny's, I took some time to just look around. Nothing had changed. It was almost as if those seven years had never passed. As if when I had left for the last time, the time had simply stopped and only resumed earlier that afternoon when I had driven back into the town.

Smiling a little at my own fancy, I walked up to the familiar door and pushed it open. Nothing had changed inside, either. The booths, the tables, even the counter looked the same. And there was Ruby, smiling widely with bright red lips and wearing a skirt that looked just as short as the last time.

"Hi, welcome to- Belle?"

"Hi, Ruby. I came back."

And then I was hit by a human torpedo. Or at least it felt that way because Ruby hugged me enthusiastically, squeezing me until I could barely breathe. To be honest, I hugged her back just as strongly and we were making quite a scene. I didn't mind.

Ruby was my best friend and she was truly glad to see me. Her joy was as palbable as my father's disappointment had been. She had supported my decision to leave and I was happy to realize that although our contact in recent years had been restricted to occasional phone calls and e-mails, the bond was still there.

"I have all of your books, Belle, and you have to sign them for me," she spoke quickly as she sat me down at the counter. "What will you have? And how long are you staying?"

"Iced tea, but make it Long Island," I replied. "And I'm going to take a room for a couple of days, if there's a free one."

"Not staying with your dad?" she asked with a sympathy as she prepared my drink. I shook my head.

"I find myself a bit too old for curfews," I said simply and she hissed.

"Same old song?"

"Same old song," I agreed. "I thought it would be different. That he would realize I have made it on my own for seven years but it's like he doesn't even care."

"Well, you're welcome to stay as long as you need, of course. And without a curfew."

"Thanks," I said laughingly. "Just what I needed to hear."

We chatted for a while after that, Ruby catching me up on the town gossip and I shared some news about my life in Portland. The diner eventually emptied out and I helped Ruby to close it down. Just like old times.

I didn't realize how precious those memories had been to me. My life after the college had consisted of writing and avoiding people. I was fortunate enough that my first novel had been published in my final year and so I hadn't had to look for a job out right. More luck had come my way when my publisher realized that my story fit right into the increasingly popular genre of a paranormal romance and had me sign a contract for three more books. The rest, as they say, was a history.

A history of hiding, as it were. My ability to read people, which had come across as an extraordinary empathy in Storybrooke, had turned to a nightmare outside of it. Just shaking hands had been enough to let me know everything the other person was feeling at that moment, right down to hunger or boredom or interest. The stronger the emotions were, the harder they hit me.

I had become an expert on walking in the crowds without touching anyone. I had avoided physical contact as much as I could have, becoming a seemingly shy, introverted person. It wasn't that I hated company, I just couldn't bear anyone touching me and having me feel their emotions. The worst part had been that until then I had been a very tactile person. Being cut off from that, from being free to touch other people, it had almost broken me. I had tried to master it but I couldn't and so I resigned myself to loneliness.

Until it got too much and I decided to come back to the only place where I could be myself. I came back to Storybrooke only to find out nothing had changed with my father. But I wasn't about to give up. I was many things but a quitter? A quitter I was not.

**IV.**

Mr. Gold was a living legend of Storybrooke. He was the resident boogeyman, the most hated person in town, the one who held the people's lives in his hand. He practically owned the town and as such, he was the one I had to go to.

Ruby made a face when I told her where I was going but even she had to agree that my best shot at finding a living place for myself was through him. I would be lying if I said I wasn't curious, too.

If you asked anyone in the town about Mr. Gold, they would tell you he was evil and then regal you with a whispered story about broken deals and kidnapped babies and cruel revenges. That was part of his legend but the few times I saw him before I had left the town, I hadn't thought him evil. To me, he had looked sad more than anything. Burdened by something invisible which no one could help him with. So I didn't see a reason to fear him.

And maybe it was my lack of fear that led me to so boldly enter his shop on that morning that had changed everything.

If I was to compare his shop to something, I would probably pick the Cave of Wonders from Alladin's story. There was a collection of things that ranged from precious to worthless and for a moment I simply stood there just taking it in.

"Can I help you?"

I turned to where the voice came from and I saw him standing behind the counter. I was quite sure he hadn't been there a moment earlier but I could have been mistaken.

"Yes, Mr. Gold," I replied and strode forward offering my hand for shaking. "Isabelle French."

"Ah, the prodigal daughter returns," he said as he took my hand and it was as if I had been hit by a lightning bolt. There were so many emotions in him, all jumbled together. Pain, fear, sadness, loneliness, regret, anger and so much more. I had never felt such an intensity before and I stumbled a bit, pulling my hand away quickly, not wishing to prolong the contact.

"Sorry," I said. "My heel caught on something," I lied because he was regarding me with suspicious eyes and how could he look so calm with that maelstrom of feelings swirling in him, I didn't know.

"That's quite alright, Miss French," he said simply. "So what can I do for you?" he asked.

"I'm looking for an apartment," I explained. "Something simple, not too big but neither too small, preferably furnished."

"What price range are we looking at?" he asked as pulled out a ledger from below the counter, flipping it open.

"Up to two thousand," I told him. I could easily afford more but I didn't need the most luxurious thing available when something simpler was enough.

Mr. Gold pulled out three glossy sheets of paper. Interior photoshoots, I realized. He spread them in front of me and I reached out almost automatically for the one with a picture of a stained window. I didn't even look at the rest of them because the moment I saw the stained window in that picture, I knew I wanted that one. The details were lacking but I could see it was a scene featuring a woman dressed in blue.

"Is this one available?" I asked but got no answer. I looked up and saw him staring at me with the most peculiar expression. Amazement and hope and fear? Before I could properly identify it, he noticed me staring and his face smoothed out.

"Yes, indeed, it's available. But are you sure about that, Miss French?"

"Yes, quite sure," I said in a defensive tone. "Why? Is there a problem?"

"Well, some people say that particular apartment is haunted," he told me with a quirk of his lips but I could tell the humour was forced.

"I don't scare easily," I told him and he half-smiled again.

"No, you don't, I guess," he said. "Brave little Belle."

"What was that?" I asked, not sure if I truly heard him say that. He merely looked at me.

"What was what?"

"I thought you said... nevermind," I said, deciding to let it go. "When could I have a look at the apartment?" I asked instead.

"Right now, unless you have other plans."

**V.**

I took the apartment in the end. The stained glass window from the photo was a part of a set. There were six panels, each depicting a different scene but all featuring the same woman. She was a brunette with blue eyes, just like me and maybe that was why I felt such an affinity to her and to the apartment.

There was a moment when Mr. Gold was showing me around that he took my elbow but I experienced none of those turbulent emotions again. Maybe that thing earlier had been just a coincidence, brought on by my imagination. Be that as it may, by the end of the tour, I had decided to take the apartment.

I signed the rental contract back in the shop, put down a deposit and left with a set of keys. I moved in the very same day.

The stained window was set in the bedroom and overlooking the woods. I took my time looking at the scenes depicted and came to realize there was a story to be told.

The woman, practically still a girl, was the heroine. She was dressed in yellow in the first panel and there was some kind of a shadowy monster looming over her. The monster was kept away by a slight man who was depicted with his back to the viewer.

The woman was dressed in blue in the next panel, cleaning a room while the man from the previous panel stood to the side, his face hidden from the viewer again but he was recognizable by his clothes.

The third panel had the man and a woman sitting together and kissing and there was something that looked like a spinning wheel in the background. There was something achingly familiar about that scene but I couldn't put my finger on what it was.

The fourth panel had the woman leaving what looked like a castle. She was staring ahead and the castle seemed to be under a heavy cloud.

The fifth panel had the woman arguing with another woman in black, with several black-dressed soldiers holding the heroine's arms.

And the last panel was of the woman sitting chained in a dungeon, staring at nothing.

I had to blink away tears I wasn't aware I was shedding. With the same certainty with which I could tell whether someone was angry or happy I knew that this story had really happened. I could feel it in my heart, the way I could almost feel the pain the woman in the pictures radiated. For a moment, I felt like I was that woman.

I turned away, rubbing my eyes. Either it was my overactive imagination again or my ability was not restricted to people only and included objects as well. I would've preferred the first option, naturally. And it was the most likely one. After all, this was the first time that any object caused such a reaction in me. Something about the story hit the right buttons in my mind and I was overwhelmed. It happened sometimes.

Assuring myself of that, I returned to the unpacking, pushing the pictures and the feelings they evoked out of my mind.

**VI.**

My new novel was shaping up nicely. It was to be the sixth in the series of my very special retelling of fairy tales. My first book was called As Red As Blood - a retelling of Snow White. It was set in a modern world, Snow White was a vampire, her Prince was a hunter contracted to kill her but instead helped her to take down her step-mother. It was a considerable success, especially for a debuting author.

The second story was Moonblinded - Little Red Riding Hood as a biker chick werewolf cruising the country in an effort to avenge her murdered family. Retellings of Sleeping Beauty as a dragon and Cinderella as a demon followed. My fifth book was about to be published, a retelling of the Rapunzel as the Eastern-European rusalka and my agent was pushing for another one.

I decided to tackle the Beuaty and the Beast, setting it in the same universe as all the others. The Beauty would be a half-fairy and the Beast a powerful but evil wizard who was afraid of love. The twist would be that she was originally sent in by the head fairy as a distraction but would eventually fall in love with the Beast for real.

Something was different, though, about writing this book. All the other times, I knew the story, had it all outlined in my head but I didn't feel attached to it. I was simply telling it without feeling the emotional connection.

When I was writing this story, I felt like I was uncovering myself. I wasn't telling the story, I was living it with every word I put on the screen. It was unsettling and so I was glad for a certain distraction, even if it made me the talk of the town.

"Would you accompany me to dinner tommorrow night, Miss French?"

The question itself hadn't caught me off-guard. No, it was the person asking who had. Mr. Gold didn't strike me as someone who did asking often and so it had come out rather awkward but to my own surprise I had found myself agreeing.

He was much older than me for sure. He was the town terror feared by all. He was also a prefect gentleman who had picked me up on time, brought me flowers and hadn't tried anything inappropriate with me the whole evening, not even when he had dropped me off later on. He had asked for another dinner, though and once again I had agreed.

I could only wonder at his motives but asking only got me a compliment (a honest one, he was escorting me to the car when I asked and I felt the sincerity in his words) so I decided to focus on mine.

I had gone out with him the first time because I remembered his strange look in the shop the day I had chosen my apartment and I wondered if I would get to see it again and maybe find out what it meant.

I had gone out with him the second time because he had made me laugh on the first outing with his sarcastic humour and had looked utterly lost that I found it funny, which had been adorable. Not a word usually associated with him and I got the feeling he was that way only with me.

I had gone out with him the third time because I wanted to be in his company more and he told me his first name at last.

I couldn't care less about the rumours that started flying around the town. I could care even less that my father called me late at night, asking if I had lost my mind and what did I think, dating that monster and he raised me better than that at which point I hung up and called Mr. Gold to set up the fourth date. Those were mere annoyances which meant nothing compared to his company and the way he made me feel.

I woke up one morning with a realization that I was dating the man for over a month and he had yet to kiss me. I was pretty sure he wanted to kiss me but something seemed to be stopping him from acting on it. Well, that would end soon, I decided.

I guess it appeased the writer in me that the setting which first sparked my interest in him - his shop - would also witness other developments in our relationship.

"Why won't you kiss me?" I asked as I leaned casually against the counter. He gave me a sad smile.

"Bad things tend to happen when I kiss someone," he said, a clear attempt at a quip but he couldn't fool me anymore. Not when we had spent every other day of the last month together and my sense had gotten so attuned to him I no longer needed to touch him to know how he felt. Maybe it was cheating but I knew he could read me just as well without any special abilities. And so I knew he was scared. Scared of pushing me away by moving too fast but the glaciers moved faster than us at this point.

"Well," I said, feigning nonchalance as I leaned closer. "Maybe it's about time that changed."

And I grabbed his tie, pulled him closer and simply kissed him.

**VII.**

It was that kiss that ruined the illusion.

If I had known then what that one kiss would cause, would I not do it?

I couldn't tell but I didn't think so.

That kiss was coming home. It was laughter and tears, joy and sadness, pleasure and pain. It was memory coming back and pain following close-by. It was love discovered anew and fear of losing it again. It was Belle kissing Rumplestiltskin and Rumplestiltskin kissing her back.

It was too much and his feelings and mine got tangled so much that I couldn't sort them out anymore and so I ran away.

It was telling he didn't follow.

**VIII.**

Surprisingly, it was Rumplestiltskin who reached out first. I only wanted to sort myself out and try and understand how I came to be in this world instead of Regina's prison and why I remembered a whole life-time of memories that couldn't have happened to me. At least I finally understood why the stained window story was so familiar to me.

I was looking at the panels again, the lights from the small tree I put up in my living room to celebrate Christmas - this world's equivalent of Winter Solstice festival - reflecting from the coloured glass when someone knocked. The hesitation told me who it was. Good, the sooner we sorted this out, the better, I thought.

Rumple looked surprised that I opened the door so soon but he composed himself quickly.

"I'm sorry," he said before I could ask anything. "I'm sorry for not believing you back then. I'm sorry for being too afraid to trust in your love. I'm sorry for shouting at you and sending you away. I'm sorry that Regina kept you imprisoned because of me. I'm sorry for not telling you everything sooner. I'm sorry for everything, Belle. I'm really, truly sorry."

With that last sorry, he turned away and I felt his intent to leave and never bother me again and how could he think that was what I wanted when he was supposed to understand me so well.

"Rumplestiltskin, wait," I said, opening the door wider. "Come in, please."

There were still many things I didn't know. Many things I would need to know. But for the moment, only one thing mattered.

There were six panels telling my story, the story that was unfinished. A seventh panel was needed, one that would depict the woman and man reuniting after a long time. He would stand in the door and she would let him in.

And they would have their happy ending.


End file.
